


the earth, it splits, and my feet on both sides

by quinnking



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, this is my headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 11:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14448717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinnking/pseuds/quinnking
Summary: F.P. never could stand to see Alice cry.





	the earth, it splits, and my feet on both sides

**Author's Note:**

> 2x19 was hectic, my dudes. and it fulfilled my "fp doesn't like seeing alice cry" headcanon. so here we are with that.
> 
> follow me on twitter (tnystarks) or on tumblr (madchen-amick). :D

_when it all feels broken, got to keep your hope alive_

* * *

**Age 9:**

He sees her sitting on the back steps of her trailer, her knees lifted up to her red and blotchy face.

"Ali," he says, carefully. "What's wrong?"

"Go away," she responds petulantly, wiping her eyes and refusing to even look at him. 

He shrugs off her request and goes to sit beside her, shoulder pressed against hers. 

"Here." He grabs her hand, uncurls it and presses the dandelion he had in his jacket pocket into her hand.

She stares at it for a moment, then at him. "Why?" 

"You're sad," he says. "Dandelions are happy." 

She twirls it around in her fingers. "Dad left," she tells him after a minute. 

He doesn't need to ask where. He understands. 

"His loss."

She nods numbly, eyes still trained on the flower. 

"Thank you, Junior." She rests her head on his shoulder, the tears gone, and he feels like he's done something good. 

* * *

**Age 13:**

She's at the top of the bleachers by the football field. He doesn't know why, but he knew she'd be here. He walks up slowly, hoping not to startle even though he knows she saw him coming from a mile away.

"Go away," she says, like always. 

"Ali," he mutters, takes her hand in both of his. She's got one tear track down her otherwise flawless face, and  _that's_ enough to have his heart aching. "Don't listen to Hermione and Penelope. They're morons." 

She swipes her fingers across her face, letting the track separate on her cheek. "They're right, though." 

He swivels his head to look at her. Her ripped jeans, cuffed at the end because they're too long. Her crop top that slides off of her left shoulder to let him see a small flicker of her collarbone. Her hair is down and curly and untamed, just how he likes it. 

"No they're not," he argues. 

She sits up straighter and glares at him, looking down at their hands but she doesn't take her own back. 

"You're not trash, Ali," he tells her, gently. 

She nods, although he suspects it's just to appease him, she doesn't believe it. 

He gives her hand a squeeze and lets it go. "Come on," he says, already starting down the bleachers. "Don't let them win. Let's go back." 

She gives him a small smile and stands to follow him and that feels like a victory.

* * *

**Age 15:**

The lights dim on the beat up stage and he watches her run off to the back after the song ends. He follows her quickly, before any of the other guys get any ideas. 

"Ali...?" 

She's in the darkest part of the storage room of the Whyte Wyrm, huddled with her knees brought up to her chest.

"Hey, Ali Cat, what's goin' on?" 

He hears her swallow. "I can't believe I just did that." 

And by this he knows she means  _the dance._  

"You did great," he tells her, honestly. He can make out her silhouette as she stands and dusts herself off. He reaches behind him for the light switch and he sees she hasn't put her clothes back on, she's still in the black lingerie she danced in. 

He shrugs out of his jacket and puts it on her, ignoring the fluttering in his chest and the sinking feeling in his stomach when he sees her runny makeup. 

"I would've preferred the gauntlet," she admits. "It's less... embarrassing." 

"You don't need to be embarrassed," he starts and she glares at him. 

"How would you know,  _Forsythe?_ " she hisses at him. "You're Serpent royalty. You didn't have to take off all of your clothes in front of a bunch of middle aged men to prove your loyalty." 

He puts his hands up in surrender. "Alright, sorry," he says, ducking his head. 

He hears her take a breath and he just  _knows_ she's about to cry all over again, so he reaches out and lets his thumb trail along her cheekbones, stopping the tears before they come. 

"Let's go," he says. "I'll stay with you until you fix your makeup. You can wear my jacket. You'll be getting your own soon, I think." 

She gives him a warm smile, then. And he notices a pattern.

F.P. Jones has never been able to see her cry, and he feels an absurd amount of validation whenever he makes her smile. 

* * *

**Age 17:**

"I'm sorry, F.P.," she tells him, eyes full and watery and blue. 

He swallows thickly, because he knew it was coming. He did. 

"I've always wanted you," he tries, anyway. Because what's the harm in that? 

He sees the tears fall and he so desperately wants to reach out, wipe them away, kiss her breathless and make her smile. But he can't, not anymore.

"He's going to be good for me. And this is going to be good for you," she says, voice wavering. "You're going to get out of here like I am, F.P. I just know it." 

For the first time in a long time, he feels his own eyes well up with tears. But he won't let them shed because he knows if she sees them, she'll break down and he  _really_ doesn't want that to happen. 

"It's okay, Alice." Her full name sounds weird, foreign on his tongue. "It's okay." 

And just like that, he's got his arms full of her. He noses her neck, taking deep breaths because  _this?_ This will never happen again.

"It's okay, it's okay." 

* * *

**Age 43, pt. 1:**

They're all in a booth at Pop's, the blue and purple lights illuminating everything. Including Alice's crestfallen features.

Who would have thought he'd be sitting in a booth with her again, years later? Alice Cooper, née Smith, the Queen of the Northside and the defamer of the South. 

"Thank you, F.P.," she says to him, so unsure and timid. So unlike  _his_ Alice. "I'm sorry for involving Betty, and that she pulled Jughead into this."

He can't stand to hear the wetness in her voice, see the sadness on her face. So he reaches out, pulls her hand into his and squeezes. 

Her breath stutters as she looks down at their conjoined hands, and he almost pulls back.  _Almost._ But doesn't. 

"We take care of our own," he says, quietly. They make eye contact, and she looks so sad. His heart feels heavy in his chest. "Circle ends here. No more loose ends." 

* * *

**Age 43, pt. 2:**

He's folding laundry, like the responsible adult he is, when he sees a flurry of blonde hair come through his front door. He stands up quickly. 

"Alice?" 

He can hear her breathing, see how wet her face is already.

"What's wrong?"

They walk closer to each other, he can see black under her eyes and the utter  _sorrow_ written across his face. There's a knot in his stomach that feels like it's weighing him down into the floor. 

"No more secrets, no more lies," she says, him walking closer still. "I should have told you sooner, maybe something would have been different." 

He's confused, of course he is, and he presses his hands to her shoulders when she gets close enough.

She tries to speak a few times before she finally manages out, "I-I had your ba-I had your baby." She pauses for a moment, letting that news sink in to him. "It's name - I named him Charles. I had to give him up for adoption."

"Alice, slow down," he says, imploringly, gently. "Slow down, alright -"

"He came to see me," she continues on, "and I turned him away." Her voice cracks, goes higher in pitch, and his heart pinches. "And now he's dead. He's dead because of me. I killed our son."

He doesn't know how to react, so he just stares until she moves a bit closer, fists her hands in his flannel.

"D-do you remember, F.P., in high school?" she asks, voice a bit low, her lips tilting up the barest bit.

"Yeah, I remember Alice, but -" 

"I'm sorry," she cuts him off. He cups either side of her face, over her hair. Gently, so gently. Like she deserves. "I made a mistake." She shakes her head, a few times, letting his hands fall from her. 

She turns to leave and he reaches out, grabs her shoulders, "no, no, wait -"

"No, I have to go, I have to go -" She sounds so broken, more than he's ever heard her sound, and his mouth tastes dry. 

"Alice, Alice, hey, listen -"

"Betty and Jughead are waiting for me -" 

"Are you talkin' about - are you talkin' about Chic?" he says louder, over her. 

She shakes her head, flails her hands around. "No, Chic is someone else. Chic is..." She breaths deep, a new panic setting on her. "You don't  _understand_ ," she cries, "what I've done, F.P. You don't understand -"

"Okay," he whispers, so low, and brings her into a hug. 

"- what I'm res-responsible for." 

He holds her tight, lets her cry into his neck and lets her grab onto him for support. 

"It's okay," he tells her, and means it. He holds her close, feels her heartbreat against his chest. "It's okay, it's okay."

She doesn't let go, he doesn't flinch when her nails dig into his arms to keep him close.

He just  _holds_ her, for what feels like hours, because it's what she needs and he wants to give that to her.


End file.
